She deserved this. She deserved all of it for defying her parents and rushing thoughtlessly into this tragic adventure. She felt so helpless of a sudden, so alone, separated from the others. Selig would have known what to do if he were here. He would have given her hope before she was taken into the hall. But Selig was dead. Oh, God, Selig!
She gave into her grief now that she didn’t have to hide it any longer. She did it quietly, alone, collapsing where she stood, halfway between Royce’s chamber and the stairs. Tears coursed down her cheeks, a luxury her pride would allow only this once. A portion of her grief was for herself.
Chapter Thirteen
Even from her position in the far corner of the hall in the cooking area, Kristen could see the four large carts leaving the yard through the open doors at the other end of the hall. Two of the carts contained the prisoners, another carried their guards, and the last was empty. All four carts would carry back loads of the big stones from the old ruins where they were going. If not for a quirk of fate that had made the Saxon lord think she was their leader, Kristen would be going with them today.
And today might be the day they would escape. There were only nine guards for sixteen men. Something could happen, the chance they needed, and then they would be gone from here. And she would be left behind to suffer the consequences.
She had told them not to worry about her, that the Saxon lord would not kill her. She had said he was angry because he had whipped a woman. But what else could she say to force them to think of themselves first? To say that it was just as likely that he was angry because he had made a fool of himself in thinking she was their leader would make some of them hesitate to leave her behind. And with her separated from them, they would lose their chance if they tried to free her to take with them. They had to go without her.
Kristen was feeling rather sorry for herself as she watched the gates close on her friends. She had spent a wretched night in a dismal little room on a hard pallet. She should have been delighted, since it was such an improvement over the cold ground, but she was miserable instead, and lonely. Hardship was much easier to bear when shared.
Not that she had such hard labor to do now. She had never minded helping to run the household at home. In fact, when the worst storms came in the winter, the servants were not expected to venture from their warm quarters by the stables. Kristen and her mother did the cooking and the cleaning for their family. Well, more Kristen than her mother, because her mother had never liked what she called “women’s work.” Brenna would laugh and wink, and swear she used to think she was a boy. But Kristen didn’t mind “women’s work.” It was the sharp, terse orders that she minded at Wyndhurst, given by servants who looked down on her.
“Does it hurt very much?”
Kristen glanced to the side to see a little girl now sitting at the end of the long table she had helped to set up for the morning meal. The child was at least six feet away from the table where Kristen was forming pastry crusts for the strawberry tarts to be served later. She had a pretty little face, all clean and pink, and two neat braids of dark brown hanging over small shoulders. Large green eyes met Kristen’s, so she assumed the question had been directed at her.
“Does what hurt?”
“Your ankle. ’Tis bleeding.”
Kristen looked down at her ankles. Sure enough, blood was dripping into the shoe on her left foot. She was annoyed with herself, for it was a thoroughly stupid thing for her to have done, to stubbornly refuse to put cloth under the iron bands this morn. A childish thing, done with the express hope that she might make a certain Saxon lord feel a small measure of guilt when he saw that her skin was wearing away from his cursed shackles. Whom did she hurt but herself? He certainly wouldn’t care, for they were his shackles, after all.
She glanced back at the little girl whose expression was so raptly attentive. “Nay, it does not hurt,” Kristen assured her with a smile.
“Truly? Do you not feel pain?”
“Surely I do. But, truth to tell, I have so many other things on my mind, I did not notice a little pain way down there.” And she indicated her feet.
The girl giggled at Kristen’s reference to her height. “Does it feel strange, to be so tall?”
“Nay.”
“But to be taller than a man—”
Kristen’s chuckle interrupted her. “In Norway, ’tis very rare for that to happen.”
“Oh, aye, the Vikings are all big men.”
Kristen grinned at the wonder in the child’s voice as she stated that fact. “What is your name, little one?”
“Meghan.”
“’Tis such a nice day. Why are you not out chasing butterflies and making flower garlands, or finding birds’ nests? ’Tis what I did at your age. Would that not be more fun than staying in the hall?”
“I never leave Wyndhurst.”
“Is it not safe?”
The child glanced down at her hands, which were resting on the table. “’Tis safe, but I do not like to go alone.”
“But there are other children here.”
“They will not play with me.”
Kristen was moved by the sad note in the little girl’s voice. But it was Eda, coming to stand beside her, who supplied the reason for it.
